Baptism of Fire
by The Real Muse
Summary: See author's page for note on further fanfic. Capt. Phillips was the beloved commander of the Seaview for many years. When he's killed, the crew are reluctant to accept their new captain until he proves himself.


Baptism of Fire  
  
By: CindyR  
  
Day to day activity aboard a nuclear submarine Is often routine, but it is certainly never considered boring. Constant vigilance is needed to maintain that subtle balance which is often all that spells the difference between survival and the crushing weight of earth's oceans -- a milieu as ephemeral and as eternal as life itself.  
  
Although each man aboard Seaview carried his own share of the responsibilities, the most vital functions were all directed from the `brain' of the great sub -- the control room. It was always abuzz with activity; the helm- and planesmen, for example, were in constant communication, working in tandem to maintain course and trim. Reports to the control room crew were numerous, and kept them informed of every major circumstance aboard the sub. One of these 'major circumstances' now occupied the attention of two members of Seaview's command crew, her executive officer, Commander Chip Morton, and her captain of two weeks, Lee Crane.  
  
"...and if we run at dead slow for the next hour or so, engineering will be able to correct that overheating problem in turbine number two." Morton pushed across a sheet of blue foolscap covered top to bottom with wiring diagrams and mathematical equations. "Here -- see for yourself."  
  
Crane ran an experienced eye across the bottommost schematic. "And Engineering thinks they can have the problem with that heat exchange unit corrected in an hour?"  
  
"Maybe less.* Morton tapped the sheet, "it's a minor problem, but it's costing us several knots per hour at flank speed."  
  
Crane nodded. *Very well, Chip. Tell the engine room to reduce speed to dead slow and go ahead. I want to be notified when the repairs are completed."  
  
"Aye, aye." Morton reached for the nearest mike to carry out the orders.  
  
"Excuse me, Sir." Kowalski materialized silently on sneakered feet. "I have the computer-generated simulations you wanted."  
  
Crane set the engineer's report onto the plotting table and accepted the printout from the tech. He read It twice, then picked up a slide rule and checked several computations. After a moment, he replaced the slide rule and raised his head. "Kowalski, there's an error in these figures. Put them back into the computer for a recheck."  
  
Kowalski reluctantly accepted the sheet, holding it as one might some particularly loathsome Insect. "Excuse me, Sir, but these figures have already been fed in twice. They've come up with the same figure both times."  
  
The slight emphasis on the word 'sir" went not unnoticed by the other man. Seaview's new captain regarded the technician coldly. "Put them through again. They're incorrect."  
  
Again that maddening hesitation. Kowalski glanced at a tall blond man at his side as though for confirmation before muttering a carefully neutral "Aye, aye," and returning to his station.  
  
Crane stared after him for a long moment, anger burning behind golden eyes. His gaze bored into the oblivious technician's back, his every muscle taut.  
  
Beside him, the blond held his breath. He'd seen Lee Crane angry before -- the man had a dangerous, controlled temper which boded no good for anyone unfortunate enough to incur it. He waited for the explosion, but the anger faded, the slightest touch of sadness burnishing the gold. Crane sighed, almost Imperceptibly, then turned away. That was when Chip Morton remembered to breathe again.  
  
Seaview's executive officer stared after his old friend thoughtfully. He'd known from the beginning that the transition period following the death of Captain Phillips would be a difficult one, but he'd expected the situation to have begun to improve long before now. Instead, things were growing worse.  
  
The crew's animosity toward the new skipper, born from first meeting, had Increased sharply following discovery of the fact that Phillips and the others had not died in an accident as they had originally been told -- but had, in fact, been murdered by a foreign agency. It had been a useless, ignoble death for a man who'd proven himself a hero a dozen times over. John Phillips had been a good man, a good captain -- and a good friend. Every member of the crew had been able to count Phillips as more than a commanding officer, and his loss was an aching void in each heart.  
  
Somewhere along the line, the grief had transmuted into a deep resentment toward his replacement, Lee Crane. True, Lee had come aboard under less than the most diplomatic of circumstances. While his little 'test' had pointed out a serious -- and potentially fatal -- flaw In Seaview's security procedures, it had also made the crew look bad in front of the Admiral himself -- not an event designed to endear the new captain to a group of proud, highly trained professionals.  
  
Looking back on Crane's background, however, Chip couldn't see where one might expect anything different from the man. The strict discipline of Annapolis followed by years in the Navy -- much of it with Naval intelligence, where one mistake might cost a man his life -- had imbued the young captain with a wary caution, one which Chip himself well understood,  
  
And Lee had begun to relax since that first mission, easing gradually into the comfortable familiarity of the sub. Although basically a shy man, he'd even made the first overtures of friendship and affability, only to have them unceremoniously thrown back into his face. The ghost of Captain Phillips was a dark specter at his shoulder, and Lee Crane would need to wage a hard battle should he ever hope to exorcise that spirit from the corridors of Seaview.  
  
Chip made a final tour of the ship following Beta watch, ending his circuit back in Officers Country. He paused before a plain, unmarked door, hesitating only a moment before rapping. "Lee?" He waited for permission to enter before stepping into the neat, almost sterile environs of the captain's cabin. "The first thing I'm going to do after we dock," he commented, looking around, "is buy you some pictures or something. This place is depressing."  
  
"Sorry," Crane retorted dryly. "I didn't exactly have time to pack."  
  
"I guess not." Chip deposited himself into a chair. "I wasn't sure you'd be awake this time of the evening. Much paperwork?"  
  
"some." Crane ran a hand through short black curls. "Status report for the Admiral I didn't get to do this morning. Give me a moment to finish, will you?"  
  
Morton crossed his legs comfortably, using the opportunity to study his friend more closely. It had been some time since he'd seen Lee; since before Crane had been given command of the submarine Narwhal - the youngest man in the Navy to be so appointed,  
  
Lee hadn't changed such. He'd always been a slender man, but with good shoulders, evidence of the promising boxing career he'd aborted back at the Academy, They were slumped now, showing the signs of a two-week- old weariness Chip resolved to do something about immediately.  
  
Lee scribbled his signature on the bottom of the report, then looked up, surprising the blond in his scrutiny. "Something wrong, Chip?" he asked softly.  
  
Yes, Morton said to himself. Aloud, he said, "I was just remembering the last time I saw you - you; were in Washington for a briefing...what was it? Three, four years ago?"  
  
"Something like that," Crane put the pen down and leaned back, smiling reminiscently. "That was some binge. I don't think I've been in DC since." He frowned. "I wonder if the police have forgotten us yet?"  
  
"They'll remember us until we're old and gray," Morton cracked the knuckles of his left hand, oblivious to the pained expression on the other man's face. "You'd rented that black 'Vette for the weekend."  
  
"I had planned to take a drive up the coast," Crane reminded him. "instead, we got roped into attending Senator Gorman's reception," He rose and crossed to an insulated blue urn standing on a sideboard, "Coffee?"  
  
"No thanks." Morton waved aside the offer. "Good old Senator Gorman. He was forever inviting junior officers to his parties. Made him look very 'democratic' in the newspapers. Or so he thought."  
  
"I could have lived without that one," Crane grumbled, pouring himself a mug of the tepid brew.  
  
"It's not as If we stayed long," Morton said, cracking his pinky. "You got out of there pretty fast after Mrs. Gorman introduced herself." He snickered. "Or did you think I didn't notice her grabbing you every time you came into range?"  
  
Crane blushed, "She was a little tipsy that night, that's all."  
  
"Tipsy?" Morton snorted his opinion of that. "She has a reputation for getting 'a little tipsy' over all the new young officers her husband invites."  
  
"All of them?" Crane tasted his coffee, grimaced and added more cream. "What about you?" he asked, returning to his seat, "She ever get you in a dark corner?"  
  
Leather creaked as Morton arranged himself more comfortably. "No, but It wasn't for lack of trying!" He chuckled. "I had a buddy at the Pentagon - lieutenant by the name of Shimmel. Ever meet him?"  
  
"Gary Shimmel?" Crane shook his head. "No. I've heard you speak of him, though." He winced as Morton began to work on the knuckles of his right hand. "Do you have to do that?" he gritted irritably.  
  
"Sorry. Bad habit I'm trying to break." Morton clasped his hands tightly together. "Anyway, Gary joined Admiral Carrington's staff about six months before I did. I heard about Mrs. Gorman from him and went prepared."  
  
"Prepared?"  
  
"I took a girl along." Chip wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Little brunette named Kathy. Ah, Kathy," he sighed, a smug little smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Poor Mrs. Gorman never had a chance."  
  
"I wouldn't have minded having Kathy along myself that evening," Crane said.  
  
His voice snapped Morton out of his pleasant little reverie. "I know what you mean. When you decided to jump ship that night, I sure wasn't going to get left behind." He frowned, "Come to think of It, I might have been safer had I stayed, Mrs. Gorman and all."  
  
Crane tapped more sugar into his cup and stirred absently. "It was the last day of my leave - what there was of it," he finished bitterly, "It was one mission after another for six months, then I got slammed right back into sub duty." He sighed. "I went from Hong Kong to Narwhal without even a day's leave."  
  
"Oh?" Morton straightened almost imperceptibly. He fixed his friend with a sharp look. "I knew you were leaving on a mission the next day. It was to Hong Kong?" Crane nodded. "You were so. ..reckless that night. Not like you usually are before a mission. I got the distinct Impression you didn't expect to come back.  
  
The darker man looked up, briefly meeting his friend's eyes, then returned to his study of the still-full cup. "I almost didn't," Crane said.  
  
"Rough one, eh?"  
  
"Yes." Crane made a dismissive gesture, "Past history, Chip." 


End file.
